


Pressure That's Pushing My Buttons

by thesleepingsatellite



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-08
Updated: 2017-08-08
Packaged: 2018-12-10 18:27:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11697369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesleepingsatellite/pseuds/thesleepingsatellite
Summary: There’s hot breath against his neck, smelling of cigarettes and whiskey, and Fred can’t find it in himself to be angry at FP for drinking on the job when there’s a shiver travelling down his spine that leaves a trail of goosebumps in its wake.





	Pressure That's Pushing My Buttons

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fenellaevangela](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fenellaevangela/gifts).



FP pushes him face-first up against the wall. The air exits Fred’s lungs in a rush of breath that ends in grunt. A hand grips Fred’s hip, the fingers digging into this body hard enough that they’re going to leave bruises. FP’s’ other hand threads through Fred’s short hair to yank his head to the side, exposing his neck. His hips grind into Fred’s ass, hard enough that the ridge of FP’s erection is unmistakable. Fred groans. He bows his head forward, trying to hide the blush that rises on his cheeks.

There’s hot breath against his neck, smelling of cigarettes and whiskey, and Fred can’t find it in himself to be angry at FP for drinking on the job when there’s a shiver travelling down his spine that leaves a trail of goosebumps in its wake. 

“Just like old times, huh pal?” FP says. He licks a stripe up Fred’s neck and nips at his jaw and that’s all it takes. Fred is hard as fucking nails, his dick straining in his jeans inches away from FP’s fingers.

“Fuck,” Fred says, unable to resist grinding his ass back against FP’s hard-on. “I don’t know about that-”

FP chuckles low in his throat. “Sure it is,” he says, his voice low and suggestive. Fred’s breath catches when FP moves the hand grasping his hip to his belt buckle. “You and me, hoping that no-one walks in on us. Back then it was our parents. But now, what if one of the guys walked in? What if it was Hermione?”

Fred’s dick hardens even further and his heart beats loud in his chest. The door to the office is unlocked. FP’s right – at any second, anyone could walk in. Even though it was after five the site wasn’t entirely empty. Archie could drop by looking for him, which, how the fuck would he explain being pressed up against a wall by his best friend’s low-life father? Hermione left for the day already, but what if she came back? 

FP rubs the palm of his hand against Fred’s erection and a pulse of arousal flood through him. It feels good, too good, and god, when was the last time anyone touched him this like? He tips his head forward and exhales a shaky breath. 

“Oh, but you like that idea, don’t you?” FP teases, both hands moving to unbuckle Fred’s belt. “You always did like the idea of getting caught.” He nips at Fred’s earlobe and yanks the zipper of Fred’s pants down. “Fucking in the locker room,” he says, drawing the vowels as he speaks, his voice ending in a moan. “Fucking at your place after school, hoping that your parents wouldn’t catch us. In the bathroom at Prom.” He pushes Fred’s briefs and jeans down, exposing his hard dick to the air. “I have to admit, having the prom king on his knees for me was a real fucking turn on.”

FP’s hand wraps around his dick, and the sensation of a hand other than his own is incredible. He didn’t realize how much he’d missed it. He bites his lip. It’s been so long since anyone touched Fred like this. After Mary left, he couldn’t bring himself to date again, throwing himself into his work and focusing on being the kind of father that Archie needed. His tentative courtship with Hermione has been chaste, and if he’s honest with himself, part of the reason is that he is afraid of what would happen if news got back to Hiram that Fred had fucked his wife. 

Despite his aura of danger and his association with the Serpents, FP is safe, at least where sex is concerned. FP teases, edges close enough to getting caught to make it thrilling. Despite years of not speaking, Fred still knows him so well. FP doesn’t want to get caught, he just gets off on the idea of it. 

Fred turns in FP’s grasp and catches a flash of surprise in FP’s expression as he pushes FP away from him before moving to flip the lock on the office door. 

He crowds in toward FP and backs him up against the desk. He grasps FP’s jaw and leans in to kiss him, hot and wet with a nip of teeth at FP’s lower lip. FP grunts in surprise and clasps Fred’s hips, pulling Fred toward him. The hot, sensitive skin of Fred’s dick rubs against FP’s jeans, and it’s not enough, not even close. Fred’s hands move to FP’s buckle, making short work of it before yanking his pants down to his ankles. 

Pressed up against each other, Fred pushes PF against the desk until he is trapped. Fred’s dick is nestled up against FP’s, and it feels good to grind against him, his dick moving rhythmically against FP’s erection and stomach.

“Knew you’d be into this,” FP says between hot, unyielding kisses. 

Fred threads his hand into FP’s hair before yanking his head back. “Shut up,” he says, watching as FP’s pupils dilate. “Just fucking shut up.” 

FP raises an eyebrow. “What if I don’t?” he asks, his tone laced with challenge. “You gonna reprimand me?”

“I might.” 

A half-grin appears on FP’s face, one corner of his swollen lips turning up. “So, what are you gonna do about it?” He reaches out and pushes a finger against Fred’s chest. “Huh, boss?”

Fred looks him up and down. FP looks a disheveled mess, more so than usual, with his hair a mess around his face and his dick hanging out of his pants. Going any further is such a bad idea for so many reasons, but their dicks are out already and he’s so turned on, and god, it’s just been so long. He remembers a summer afternoon – god, it was almost twenty years ago, before everything went to shit - when FP had gone down on his knees in the dirt under the scorching sun and he _wants_. 

“On your knees,” Fred says, shocked by how rough his voice sounds to his own ears. 

FP bites his lip salaciously and salutes before spinning them around so that Fred’s ass is pressed up against the edge of the desk. “Yes, sir,” he says, dropping to his knees.

He takes Fred’s cock between his lips without preamble and Fred gasps when FP sucks it deep into his mouth. The hot, wet suction feels so good. It’s startling in its intensity, just like the first time FP did this for him when they were fifteen. FP sucks his dick like his life depends on it. When Fred looks down he sees that one of FP’s hands is wrapped around the base of his shaft to keep him steady as he sucks him. The other hand is tucked out of sight, and Fred can tell by the steady, rhythmic movements of FP’s shoulder that he’s jerking himself off. 

It’s hotter than it should be, watching FP go down on him in this cramped, wood-paneled office. It brings back memories of the two of them stretched out in each other’s beds, behind the bleachers, in the locker room, hands or mouths on each other’s cocks and flushed with the heady horniness of youth. 

His orgasm hits him out of nowhere, roaring into existence all at once rather than building slowly. He groans and cries out, throwing his head back and screwing his eyes shut underneath the bright fluorescent overhead lights. FP sucks him dry, his mouth and lips working tirelessly around his dick until it is too much. 

“Stop,” Fred pants, batting at FP’s head. “I can’t –”

FP pulls off his dick, and settles back on his haunches, leaning back on one hand. Fred looks down at him, and the sight of FP’s wet lips and his own fist around his hard on is lewd, like something out of a wet dream.

“Whatever you say, boss,” FP says, his voice cutting off in a grunt. His hand works his own dick, moving in rapid motions. Before Fred can move to reciprocate, he watches as FP comes with a choked-off moan, shooting all over his hand and his stomach. Fred feels so fucking dirty, watching FP get off while kneeling at his feet on the ragged carpet floor of his office, his hips thrusting up involuntarily with each spurt of come. FP holds Fred’s eyes as he brings his hand to his mouth and sucks the come off his fingers one by one, the very picture of vice and debauchery. 

“So whaddya think, boss?” FP asks in a drawl. “You gonna write me up?”

Fred reaches out a hand and when FP grasps it, he hauls FP up off the floor. “Maybe not this time,” he says, tucking his dick away and pulling his pants up.

“This time,” FP says. He looks at Fred and arches an eyebrow before reaching for the box of tissues on the desk. “Does that mean you maybe wanna do this again sometime?’

Fred nods. He wonders if he should kiss FP or something, but since they were never like that, he hovers an arm’s length away. “Maybe. We’ll see,” he says, clapping a hand on FP’s shoulder.

“We’ll see, huh,” FP says, gruff. He snorts and shots a glance at Fred before turning away. “Well, I gotta get gone for the night, pal,” he says, making his way to the door.

“Sure thing,” Fred says, watching FP’s back as he ambles toward the door. He feels as though he has missed something crucial about their hook up, and he wonders for a moment if it meant more to FP than he had let on. Which is impossible, because they’re barely even friends now. They’re acquaintances bound by sense-memory and nostalgia. 

Fred can’t shake thoughts of FP, though. Images of FP on his knees, of Fred’s dick in his mouth, plague him for the rest of the night. He knows that the “maybe” that he’d uttered had become definitely, as soon as fucking possible, please.


End file.
